Observations of a Cake Lady
by bells-mannequin
Summary: "It's only just starting, Oozora-san," Haru says with a smile that rivals the sun. She can't hide the giddiness of it all, can she? Haru—she's just a girl like you and me, who fell in love with a boy who fell in love with her, and actually, the whole story probably is a lot more difficult than this. [Haru, Yamamoto, and the evolution of a romance.]


**notes**: You know what I love? Love stories from a non-participating third person's point of view. It's one of those things that I want to write for every single one of my (admittedly, numerous) OTPs.  
The plot behind this story is pretty self-explanatory, so no lengthy A/N today (phew, right? I know, I'm a lot talkative in A/Ns).  
(I'm still working on the final hidden spots! I swear, not abandoning it on the home stretch :D)

Oh, and also: disclaimer on my profile; I love all of you, guys; at least right now unbeta-ed; English ain't my mother tongue. You know, the usual stuff.

Cheers,

bells :)

* * *

**Observations of a Cake Lady**

* * *

Oobaza Misao loves her part-time job dearly. She is surrounded by the most delicious kind of cakes, muffins, scones, pastries and other baked goods, the pay is quite alright if one considers that she can take leftover cakes home with her and that she always has something at her disposal when her sweet tooth aches for something. She likes nearly all of her co-workers. The customers are almost as sweet as the treats sold.

What's not to love?

Probably it is because no one can be unhappy, grumpy or any of the kind when entering such a heavenly bakery such as the one she works in—Namimori Bakery. Sweets just have that kind of effect on people, Misao thinks.

There are regulars who come every day for a cup of coffee and a croissant; some who, year after year, commission the same birthday cake for their mothers, some who come in random intervals and order randomly what catches their eyes, or even the odd person who comes once and never returns (which Misao really can't fathom).

Among Misao's favourite customers are two young-ish girls—teenagers really, but still so cute and innocent when they stare at the goodies in the vitrines, giggling and laughing softly, thinking hard about which cake to buy, and then enjoying it.

What she loves the most about these two cute girls is, however, that she can basically see them growing up since they are regulars. Usually, they visit on Tuesdays or Saturdays, and once a month they do an all-out '_eat cake till you faint_' kind of thing. Misao thinks the darker-haired one calls it "Haru Appreciation Day" which is just adorable.

—

The months pass since the two girls have started frequenting the café, and other people begin to accompany them sometimes.

There is a forever uncertain-looking, brown-haired boy who seems to be either afraid of the baby that's always with him (probably his younger brother?) or of the girl with dark brown hair (her name is Haru, while the other girl's name is Kyouko). Sometimes they are accompanied by a very loud, slightly older teen-aged boy, or the typical tsundere foreign boy, or a gangly, black-haired boy who always carries a baseball bat around. Sometimes, two kids called Lambo and I-pin accompany them, and sometimes a very pretty, very exotic-looking young woman does.

—

They get older (Misao does, too, it just isn't something she likes to acknowledge on a daily basis (a not very unusual trait in most women of her age group)) and prettier and turn into fine women—and it is heart-wrenching to look at, even more so because they start reducing the times they come to the bakery to one Appreciation Day in a month, and Misao cut her hours at Namimori Bakery (after all, she doesn't want to be a full-time bakery salesperson but a marine biologist) and sometimes five or six months pass before Misao sees them again.

Change has that habit—it just becomes so much more prominent after long periods of absence.

After almost half a year of not seeing her favourite customers, the whole crew comes in together again, ordering slices over slices of cake, pastries, muffins, cupcakes, coffee or juice for the boys, tea for the girls, cocoa for the children. Kyouko tells her smilingly, "We've just graduated from High School," shining and beautiful like a flower in full bloom. She gifts a gentle look to the meek boy who doesn't look very meek anymore, and Misao thinks to herself, _oh my, oh my_.

Of course something breaks during their feasting, an empty tea cup it is, and the tall boy with black hair approaches her, seemingly not being able to decide whether to be amused or annoyed at the little ones starting a food fight over whose fault the broken teacup is. He lets out a low laugh as Misao thrusts a broom into his hands.

"Sorry," he says, smiling—boyish, rueful—and Misao thinks to herself, _he's a heart-breaker_, and, _does he even know it?_

"Isn't it usually Kyouko-san or Haru-san who tame the kids?" Misao asks before she can stop herself, wincing at the professionalism—or rather, lack of it—Miyako-san always preaches about. The two girls (almost women already, oh dear, Misao feels so _old_) sit a few seats away from each other, Kyouko with her boyfriend, and Haru with the young woman wearing goggles and the scowling foreign boy.

"Yeah …" the boy answers, thoughtful, and for a moment, both just look out of the window to the two big tables pushed together where his friends sit, enjoying the sun and the cherry petals and the cake. Haru laughs at something while the scowling boy scowls even deeper. "Kyouko and Tsuna are—… and Haru is …" He doesn't finish the sentence.

But still, as Misao sees that _look (_like the world is quiet when he looks at the girl) she thinks, _oh my, oh my_, and, _I did not expect that_.

—

"Does Namimori Bakery send cakes to Italy?" Haru wonders, maybe two-thirds of a year after graduating, as she puts the change back into her purse.

Misao frowns a little, considers the question for a minute, and then answers, "I don't think so. Why?"

"Oh, it's nothing," the young woman says, smiling wistfully, "I'll just really miss this bakery." Then she puts the two pieces of sweet potato cake into her bag. "And I'll miss you, too, Oozora-san!"

Before Misao can ask what all that meant, Haru has already left the shop, leaving behind the scent of orange zest and a little figurine that looks like a confectioner with a cake in both hands.

Misao never does find out where Haru bought that tiny little thing that will become Namimori Bakery's unofficial mascot.

—

After her last encounter with Haru, Kyouko and she stop coming to the store altogether.

And for a few months, Misao worries about the two girls she got to see growing up in that little, homey bakery—worries a little bit more than professionally necessary (she can't help it, she's a worrier at heart).

—

But then, on one especially rainy day in late September, someone enters.

Misao still does not know his name, only that he has been gangly once, and is tall now, that his hair colour is black, that his smile is cute, and that her younger co-workers always argued about who was the one to serve him, giggling and blushing. (On the other hand, Kyouko's and Haru's male friends were all surprisingly handsome which is probably part of the reason why _everyone _looked forward to their visits to Namimori Bakery.)

_You're the boy who's in love with Haru_, Misao thinks.

"Hello," he says, throwing a charming (oh, that _boy_) smile at Ai-chan, their newest employee, who still fumbles over cash float and éclairs, but is willingly enough not to be a nuisance, and pretty and friendly enough to attract a few customers.

"Welcome," she stutters with a quick bow that sends her hair flying.

"I wanted to order a few cakes for tomorrow. I know, it's very short notice but—"

"It's okay," Misao interjects with a smile at the flushed Ai-chan, "our baker doesn't have a lot to do with this rain and no customers—they said it would continue raining for a _week_! … Anyways—what kind of cakes do you need?"

"Sweet potato," he counts of his fingers. "Some kind of chocolate cake? Oh, and that awesome layer cake with the coffee and caramel cream filling."

"Hmm," Misao nods while scribbling the order on a writing pad, and even when she wants to shake the answers out of him, she gets her voice to sound nonchalant as she asks, "How're Haru-san and Kyouko-san?"

He frowns, not as if angry, more like in thought, and finally says, "Safe." Then, he adds with a wry grin, "In cake-withdrawal."

"And how're _you_?"

"Oh, nothing much changed, you know." He shrugs and Misao smiles, compassionate. _I'm rooting for you_, she thinks, and he says, "Thank you," as he accepts the hand-written receiptfor the ordered cakes. "I'll come by around five tomorrow."

They wave him goodbye.

—

He becomes a regular.

After two years, she can discern his different kind of smiles, grins, laughs; after two years, she looks forward to seeing him again, every month or so, to buy the cakes Haru and Kyouko crave in Italy.

Misao doesn't ask what exactly they are doing there, or why they are "safer" there than here, in sleepy Namimori with about six offence reports in as many months. She doesn't ask but her imagination runs wild (they are royalty. They are half-Italian. They are bored of life in Japan. They are members of the Mafia. They are studying abroad. They are aliens. They are—), and she just thinks to herself that one of the thousand options whirling through her mind _must _be the right one, so what does it matter if she doesn't know _which_ one exactly it is?

She doesn't really need a reason for Haru and Kyouko living in Italy.

What she does need, though, is a reason for that boy always coming to Japan when he obviously lives in Italy as well.

"Everyone knows that our cakes are good—but not good enough for spending hundreds of thousands of yen to fly here," says Misao casually, on a hot, humid summer day as she hands him the usual three boxes of cake and pastry. "And I'm saying that as the person who is probably the greatest lover of cake. In the whole universe."

"Mm," he nods in agreement, carefree smile in place.

Misao just looks at him expectantly.

"Let's say … my work entails a lot of travelling."

"To _Namimori_?"

"Yep." He grins so outrageously cheeky that Misao just _knows _he tells the truth. She wrinkles her nose.

It doesn't lessen her confusion.

—

A year or so after that, he enters, looking elated and happy and content. "Hello, Misao-san," he greets pleasantly.

Misao grinned. "Something good happen?"

"Eh, you could say so," he admits, and Misao comes to the realisation that he is one of those people who like to keep their feelings to themselves. He seems quite content to just enjoy his happiness on his own.

"I still don't know your name, you know, O_kyaku_-san…" He looks up from the muffin display to give her a look, "and I think that I should know it so that I can congratulate you properly."

"For what, Misao-san?"

"I could be mistaken, of course, but I think I recognise a guy whose dream girl finally accepted his advances."

He doesn't look flustered _or _smug,just seems to gauge the situation, before introducing himself: "Yamamoto Takeshi."

Misao nods, tucking the information into a corner of her mind. Then, a smile breaks out on her face, something she can't really control, and she puts a chocolate cupcake with caramel coffee buttercream on top of the boxes of cake. "That's on the house. Congrats, Yamamoto. I'm happy for you."

—

Misao turns twenty-nine (her lucky number); Misao marries a lovely, wonderful man who cooks her favourite dishes for her, lets her drive the car without nagging about her mediocre driving ability, tells her when she is prying in other peoples' lives too much, and is, most importantly, her best friend and greatest love; Misao gets her degree and starts working more hours at the Namimori Institute for Marine Biology—but Misao never stops part-timing at Namimori Bakery, even when neither Yamamoto, nor Haru or Kyouko continue to come.

—

Two years later, with a baby on the way, her husband, Seiji, had persuaded her to cut back a little, so for the time being, she just works at the bakery. Money isn't really the problem, with his big company job (her girl friends had laughed at her when she told them that she, Misao, who had proclaimed that she would _never _get involved with someone wearing a suit on a daily basis, would marry someone exactly like that), so since Misao doesn't want to turn into a dust-covered, extremely lame _housewife _(not that, in general, there is anything wrong (or extremely lame) with wanting to be a full-time housewife) at home with her growing belly and her swollen feet, they had come to this compromise.

And Misao could have kissed her husband _senseless _for making her do that, or else she would have never seen Haru and Kyouko come in on that Monday morning (she has never before been on a Monday morning shift because she has always hated waking up early on Mondays, at least before that little monster in her belly had decided differently, usually with a fierce kick at 5 AM or the urge to eat loads and loads of mochi with soy sauce at 3 AM_)._

They have changed—of course they have changed. Misao hasn't seen the two girls—women now, fully grown-up—in more than half a decade, so change was prone to have happened.

Kyouko's hair is long and a little less wavy, her make-up subtle, her clothes feminine and stylish but sensible. She talks at Haru quietly, with an insistence that her younger version didn't have, watching her friend with concern.

"I'm fine, Kyouko-chan," Haru says finally, matured in her voice, and her eyes, and her whole posture.

Haru had been much more of a child than Kyouko, Misao remembers, which is probably why seeing her with a crème-coloured shirt tucked in these modern carrot trousers, heels, and a bob that frames her face prettily surprises her so much. She looks sophisticated, paired with a touch of romantic playfulness; she looks like everything Misao had imagined her to be as an adult.

She feels same parts proud (these little girls, all grown up now) and worried (what happened?).

As Kyouko's gaze falls on Misao, her frown turns into a pretty, genuine smile. "Oozora-san! You're still working here? Oh, and you're pregnant, too! So—_are _you even 'Oozora'-san, anymore?"

Haru adds a remark of how pretty and glowing Misao looks, and how wonderful it is that she is married. "We missed your cakes," she says at last with a wry smile that reminds her 100 percent of Yamamoto Takeshi.

Kyouko lets out a light giggle behind her hand.

"So … what's bringing you back here, girls? And oh, how's your cake transporter? I haven't seen him in at least two years!"

That was either the most wrong or most right question to ask, going by their reactions.

"He—" Kyouko starts before turning away a little, blinking away a few tears.

Haru, on the other hand, looks determined. "His father died. We're here for the funeral." She doesn't seem fazed by the fact that she tells this an almost complete stranger. "He's not fine. But—but he's not alone and I … I _believe _that he'll …" She doesn't complete her sentence.

"You believe in him, Haru-san?" Misao says gently.

Haru nods, something like love, or trust, or grief straightening her spine.

"I do." She breathes out before smiling and wondering aloud, "What cake should we eat? Since Takeshi-san couldn't get cake for so long, I want to have one of each …"

Kyouko laughs, watery, "We don't have that much money with us, Haru-chan …"

"Hahi? Oh, right … then, how about taking one of each that we haven't tried yet?" Haru smiles at Misao. "Is that possible, Oozora-san?"

"Yes," Misao answers, smiling as well, "yes, of course, dears."

—

It is only two months later that she sees them again.

They look handsome together (he's that epitome of tall, dark, handsome, and she's pretty and so obviously smitten with him), but more importantly, they just look _together_. That sometimes happens to couples, Misao knows, when they know each other long enough, well enough. Then, their gestures are like replies to each other, and they start moulding together even when not standing very close to each other. Haru is in love with Yamamoto, Misao sees that finally first-hand, and for that she is glad.

For a few minutes, they stand in front of the bakery. Yamamoto talks and Haru nods, half-smiling, before she puts her hands around his neck and pulls him down to her level for a kiss on the cheek and a hug.

They enter, not holding hands or anything, and greet Misao and Ai-chan, who works full-time now.

"What can I bring you today?" Misao asks as she takes in the dark circles around Yamamoto's eyes and that new steeliness in them.

"I want one strawberry daifuku and one green tea daifuku," chirps Haru. "Oh, and I have the strangest craving for canned coffee! What about Takeshi-san?"

He doesn't respond, and his eyes have a far-away look in them. Haru touches his arm tentatively. Something of the tension leaves his shoulders at her touch, and he runs a hand through his hair as he sighs. "Sorry, Haru."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she answers, brisk and defiant. It doesn't seem like an uncommon kind of conversation between them. "We're still a little jet-lagged," Haru explains, and Misao nods, accepting the half-lie easily.

"Then how about an espresso, Yamamoto?"

"Oh, and some Imagawayaki?" Haru adds as she continues to inspect the vitrines.

"Ah," Yamamoto says, smiling tiredly at the young woman at his side. "I'd love that."

Misao watches them sit down at a small table. They don't talk a lot with each other, just eat their cakes without any ruffle, exchanging a few words here and there.

"Say, Yamamoto," she addresses him as he pays for the ten cupcakes they bought as well, "when's the wedding? Because I'm sure Namimori Bakery would gladly take care of the wedding cake."

"We're not _together _together, Misao-san," Yamamoto says quietly.

"Oh, I thought something like that," Misao answers in a deliberately airy tone. "But I also thought how that's truly stupid of you." She smiles and hands him the change. "Seize the day, Yamamoto."

—

He does. He did.

Oh god.

Did he really?

_Really _really?

—

"_That's _a _nice _ring, Haru-san. Oh, and it that a _diamond _…?"

Haru laughs. "You needn't be so subtle, Oozora-san. We all know what a gossip you are." But she says it with an endearing kind of undertone, so Misao doesn't feel very insulted. Also—it's kind of the truth?

"So …?"

"Of course he didn't," says Haru with an amused glint in her eyes as she shrugs nonchalantly. "We're young and—our … jobs are kind of unstable, and we've only just … you know—gotten together, and of course he didn't propose, Oozora-san! He's not _that_ big of a fool." But she smiles so fondly, love-sick and totally adorable, and Misao sighs contently. "It's his grandmother's old ring. Just pretty glass, _no_ diamonds. And it was just a birthday present."

"You sound really defensive, you know that?"

"I do?" Haru smirks, strikingly similar to her (yay!) boyfriend.

What a strange thing, Misao thinks while she wraps two pieces of mocha walnut torte. What a strange, beautiful, wonderful, amazing thing.

—

"It's only just starting, Oozora-san," Haru says with a smile that rivals the sun. She can't hide the giddiness of it all, can she? Haru—she's just a girl like you and me, who fell in love with a boy who fell in love with her, and actually, the whole story probably is a lot more difficult than this.

But who is Misao—only the cake lady, witnessing nothing more than the peripheral happenings of their romance in a quaint, little bakery—to tell you any more than this?

—

_end_.

—

(Only, not really, but having a baby is kind of time-consuming and demanding—you can't blame a girl for having priorities, right?

Misao is pretty much sure that Yamamoto and Haru are living their fairytale ending somewhere, promise.)

* * *

published: 06/03/013

word count: 3298

(Sorry in advance for the mistakes, but I'm a little fed up, and I'll just effing upload this now. sighbyeloveyou!)


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